


Corpi Delectus

by Oriole T (inamac)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Angst, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1983-09-01
Updated: 1983-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Oriole%20T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray and Bodie find themselves the victims of their most dangerous adversary yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corpi Delectus

The two top agents of CI5 were both feeling pleased with the outcome of the job which they had just wrapped up. Admittedly they had both collected a few bruises and lost their current girlfriends, but that was something of an occupational hazard, and they could always, thought Doyle, glancing across at his somnolent partner, solve that problem. Who needed girls anyway? The thought pulled him up short and he slammed on the car brakes, bringing the vehicle to a stalling, sideways halt.

"Ray, what...?" Bodie sat up straight in his seat and turned to face him, the midnight eyes wide beneath upswept lashes. Doyle found himself drowning in their gaze, his guts melting and his heart hammering into erotic rhythm. The feelings confirmed his worst suspicions. He swore.

"It's 'appening again," he answered to Bodie's query, watching the puzzled look on his partner's face change to one of unbridled lust - and understanding.

"Yeah," he agreed, having to fight down the urge to reach for his suddenly desirable companion, to bury his face in the riotous auburn curls, to run searching fingers beneath the half-opened shirt and feel the lithe body respond to his skilled touch.

Doyle's own fingers were clenched tight on the steering wheel, veins corded over the muscles of his arms as he forced himself to remain still, grinding slim hips and the most desirable bum in England into the unappreciative leatherette upholstery of the Capri's driving seat; but for all his determination he could not prevent the rising heat of an erection thrusting at his too-tight jeans.

"Oh sod!"

"Probably," nodded Bodie, recognizing the signs as he fought his own battle with unwanted desire. Doyle shook his head in denial and jerked open the car door.

As he stepped out, as if it were a signal, the clear blue sky clouded over and a solid wall of rain fell, drenching him from head to foot. He swore.

"Tut tut." Bodie looked up in amusement. Doyle, dripping and desirable, clenched his fist and shook it at the heavens. Bodie took in the sight with voluptuous appreciation.

"Of course," he observed thoughtfully, "we could always go along with it. I could use a break, and the Cow always gives us leave."

He was rewarded by a green scowl. "No way. Last time you suggested that you ended up in traction an' I got bloody raped." Doyle looked up into the storm. "This time I'm probably scheduled for double pneumonia."

Bodie realized that his partner was right. He didn't like to remember the time before. The nightmares hadn't been pleasant, and the cell had been far from comfortable. Neither his experiences in the bush, nor Doyle's on the Drug Squad, had prepared them to deal with the embarrassing effects of the perverted imaginations responsible for their current predicament. If Doyle did get pneumonia he would probably end up in bed comforting him -- and neither of them like hurt/comfort scenarios. He shrugged in resignation and looked up through the open door.

"Yeah, you're right. You wanking home?"

" _What_!"

Bodie blushed (something that he was all too prone to do in this situation). "Sorry. Must've been a typo." He pulled the door shut.

The desire was beginning to die a little. With luck this might turn out to be a mere vignette. Not for the first time he found himself praying for writer's block.

"Sounds more like a Freudian slip to me." Doyle pulled up the collar of his jacket -- it did not keep him any drier, but it did make him look prettier -- and turned away. Bodie switched on the ignition, aware that the lonely figure framed in the windscreen felt as confused and angry as he did. He leaned out for a parting word.

"Never mind, sunshine, they'll lose interest eventually."

"Bloody hope so..."

The sentence was cut off by thunder. Lightning forked out of the sky and (of course) the earth moved. Their last coherent thought, as the blue fire blasted them into oblivion, was one of vast surprise. Neither of them had expected this to be a death story.

Neither had the author.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written September 1983 for the Hatstand circuit.


End file.
